


Grey

by idgit_with_a_fidget



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Impala Fic, M/M, a lot was unsaid in season 7, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 19:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idgit_with_a_fidget/pseuds/idgit_with_a_fidget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a sticky day and Dean's tending to his precious car, but a conversation with Cas turns sour, and Dean starts to admit to things he'd been trying to hide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grey

Dean’s back was damp with perspiration and it seeped through his first-layer cotton tee in a perfect ring, darkening the material. He had discarded his checkered shirt, using it now as a cloth to wipe his oiled hands. He shivered despite the humidity. 

“Someone’s walking over your grave,” Castiel remarked blandly, as though discussing the weather or informing the eldest son that he had a loose thread on his jeans.

A shrug of vague dismissal from the hunter acted as a reply as he took a wrench to the Impala’s underbelly. His cheeks were smudged with grey streaks of oil and grease, and the stench of engine fuel hung around his hair, clothes and pores, leaking from each orifice. But Cas didn’t find it repulsive or off-putting; it was the stench of hard labour, physical work well done. In a way he looked on with the admiration of a scholar, and was even slightly envious whilst at the same time quietly amused: his Father created Earth without so much breaking a sweat. 

“Stupid saying,” Dean remarked through gritted teeth, ground with effort. He swivelled his wrist, tightening a loose piece of metal. He was as most at home when in the presence of the vehicle as he was back in Kansas. “Just an old wife’s tale. Besides: they’re probably dancing on it.”

“I doubt it. That would show a high level of ill-manner and disrespect for your salted bones,” Cas informed, wincing somewhat. 

Dean rolled back on the skateboard he was using to manoeuvre around the car and blinked up at him, face strained against the high sun’s radiance, expression one of: ‘what the hell, man?’. He straightened out, standing. He wiped his hands on his thighs.

“Surely, Dean, you are not filled with that much self-loathing that you believe no mourners will visit your headstone and only –what do you call them?- sons of bitches will have…raves, on the holy soil?” Cas tried, but the look in Dean’s green eyes corrected him. 

“The way it’s going I’ll have no-one else to visit anyway,” Dean said bitterly. His attention turned to the car again. It had become a tell-tale sign that something was concerning the hunter: he always gave Baby a little more attention than usual. 

“What about your abomination brother?” Cas mused, not minding if he caused offence. “What about me?”

There was a sad silence amidst the dying August heat. The atmosphere shimmered with an oasis-like quality. Petrol fumes hung like a visible gas in the air. Dean stooped, snatched the shirt from the ground and wiped his brow on the sleeve, wrinkling his nose at the grime. He sniffed and perched on the hood of the Impala, then leaned back against the sun-boiled metal. It stung the thin layer of skin cells on his back. He needed the tan. The yellow rays on his face made his green eyes squint.

“You know, Cas, we’ve done a lot of stuff in our lives. A lot of crazy shit, definitely. And even though Sammy’s my brother and you’re…” he took a breath. Friend? It sounded weird. But what else would you call him? The angel came and went like a bad stem of the flu virus. “What I’m trying to say is that something’s gonna happen, something really crap and I don’t want it to happen, but it will; Sam might start seeing things again, his head might get screwed up so much he’ll shoot himself thinking that he’s put a silver bullet through Lucifer’s thick skull, maybe even me. Or maybe someone from your side’ll come down and start blazing the place up and you guys will be gone –heck, you’re never always here anyway- and I’ll be on my own and the things we try you stop will be pretty pissed and…and, yeah: those sons of bitches will have orgies on my grave.” 

Cas’ face was stricken with guilt, anguish and upset. Dean’s mouth was taught lin. His chest rose and fell so rhythmically. So fragile. Yet, so hard to shatter.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes?”

“Save me a spot?”

The question dangled like a worm on a hook. Cas considered it, torso and throat tight. Dean was still, unmoving. The wrench in his hand lay cold on his stomach. A grey cloud had blurred over the blue.

“No. I won’t allow that to happen to you. Not until you are very old and you can only eat baby food.”

“C’mon, man. Just…pop on back up there or, or go down there and write in their reservation book. It’s gotta be like a hotel, right? Under the name ‘Winchester’. I’ll pay. Pent house suite, preferably.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“No? Like you can stop it happening anyway,” the man’s jaw was set in annoyance.

“You’re talking like a dead man!” Cas snapped.

Dean jolted upright and Cas recoiled. “That’s because I don’t know when to feel alive anymore!” the wrench clattered noisily on the ground. “The only times I know I’m actually here is when I’m nearly getting turned into a human kebab! Now my head’s all messed up! When I was a kid it was so much easier, black and white: protect Sammy, shoot anything that stunk of hell. Shoot it dead, quick salt and burn job and get out, get away, move on and take up the next job. Now there are shades of grey and…and I can’t even think straight! Sometimes it gets in my head that the things we do aren’t even real, that I’m really just in some sort of Total Recall thing. I don’t know what to do, half the time I’m just running in and not thinking and it’s then I forget about the most important thing: protect Sammy. If I forget that, then who knows what’s going to happen?! It’s like the world doesn’t want to be saved anymore. It’s like it keeps on chewing and chewing and never swallowing. Some days I just wanna be swallowed, Cas. I want to just…be done with. If I’m gonna die…at least let me stay that way. Let me move on. It would be better for everyone.”

He stared into the cold, hard blue of the angel’s eyes. He was breathless for a moment, all the rage that coursed through his veins abruptly leaving him. He turned his head. No. Not this. Not now. No fighting. He rolled off the hood of the car and dusted himself down, unable to handle the ice azure burning into his skin. He knew Cas was still staring. That’s all Cas ever did was stare. Dean placed the wrench back in the toolbox. There was the sound of an opening door and Sam stuck his head out. 

“Cas, look-” Dean began, fumbling over an apology, but where the angel had been standing was now an empty space. A suddenly desolate void. No pops, sucking vacuums or showy effects. 

“Hey. Dean. Come inside. Think we’ve got something. Um…Ohio.”

Dean sagged, ruffled his hair, stared at the empty space where the sun cast a greying shadow. “Yeah. Sure. There in a sec.”

“How’s the car?”

“She’s perfect. Daddy’s done a good job.”

“And Cas?”

A shrug. “You know how he is. He’ll be back. Always is.” There was a brief pause, an unbreathed sigh, the tight curling of lips. “C’mon, we’re wasting daylight.”


End file.
